


Night Watch

by firelord65



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Character Study, F/M, Mission Fic, Post-Canon, Slight pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:55:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28039512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firelord65/pseuds/firelord65
Summary: Gaby and Illya take tonight's stake out shift. It's only been a few weeks into their partnership, and Gaby has questions for Illya as she adjusts.
Comments: 8
Kudos: 12
Collections: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. Winter Holiday Gift Exchange 2020





	Night Watch

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rose_griffes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rose_griffes/gifts).



Gaby rapped her nails on the outside of the car, her eyes cast towards the apparently empty apartment they were surveilling. She wasn't really watching though and Illya could tell. Her normally sharp gaze was lost on some distant horizon.

"Gaby?" Illya pressed after a long minute. He was spending perhaps slightly too long watching her rather than the residence they were supposed to be, but after four hours without a peep, he had started to suspect there would be no movement tonight after all. It took a second repeat of her name for her to stir.

Her eyelashes fluttered as she blinked several times and turned her eyes to meet his. "Hmm?" she murmured. Already her gaze had sharpened once more. Or perhaps she could always pierce through him with those devastating brown eyes of hers.

Illya lifted his binoculars and looked once more to the plain building in front of them. Those were not thoughts that were befitting of a professional relationship, and neither one of them had broached the topic of theirs being anything but that. "Notes?" Illya grunted. "Thoughts?"

She shifted in the seat next to him, a grimace catching the corner of his eye as he tried in vain to pay attention to just the task at hand. "I think next time we should spring for a nicer car," Gaby grumbled. She wasn't wrong. Illya was just more acclimated to the discomforts that came with espionage.

Gaby was adjusting, though. She already had a leg up on what either Illya or Napoleon had expected due to the efforts Waverly had gone while using her as an informant. But laying low and letting others take lead wasn't on the table any longer. She was clever though and for the most part she had taken to the new position like a duck to water. After all, she had done a fair amount of the leading with the Rome job.

She did not belong cooped up in a car for hours on end watching an empty building when she could be building, fixing, tinkering. Illya was dying to get her insights on the tech that UNCLE was being assigned, but, no, that wasn't a helpful thought here.

"Nice cars catch the eye," Illya replied. He let the binoculars settle once again on top of the steering wheel and added, "It is unfortunate."

Sighing, Gaby figited once more before swinging her legs up to the side and leaning heavily on the center console. Her back pressed against Illya's shoulder as she stared out the open window. The tattoo her nails had made on the car door was tapped silently onto her crossed arms. "Why is it that Napoleon finds himself with pleasant company and fancy cars when he goes out on assignment, yet we do not?"

The question brought a chuckle from Illya's chest. "Cowboy also finds himself in hot water more often than not because of this," he answered.

He allowed himself another glance over at Gaby. Her hair was tied in a loose ponytail and spilling over his shoulder. There was a pleasant, lingering aroma from it or perhaps just from Gaby herself. Feeling impulsive, Illya added, "I have no complaints about my company, either."

There was a slight shuffle to Gaby's shoulders that followed along with a cough. "You don't have to flatter me. We're not playing a role tonight," she said with forced lightness.

No one was around to hear or to judge, that was true. Their mission in Istanbul - between the nightly stakeouts - had involved some similar covers to Rome. To keep things easier to remember for Gaby, they had decided. Not because it made Illya comfortable being allowed a reason to remain firmly with Gaby. They were playing the long-standing couple again, though they were not engaged this time.

"Sorry."

Silence stretched between the pair for several minutes. It was different than before. Illya felt every breath that he took as he fought to keep from jostling Gaby. She let out another sigh.

"How many of these have you done?" she asked.

Illya's brow furrowed as he thought. " I would think perhaps… twenty-four, twenty-six since the mission began?" They had been exchanging nights with Napoleon once they identified the apartment building as one of their target's favored places to lie low.

Gaby shook her head and it made her hair shift. Illya remained still to the point of stiffness rather than give in to his instinct to - _gently!_ \- brush it back into order. It might not go over well with Gaby, though, so he didn't budge. "That's not what I meant," she replied. Her fingers stilled their tapping as she paused to study her nails. "How many stake outs have you done. Like, over your career? Is this something that we'll have to do every time? Every mission?"

It wasn't a question with an easy answer, and Illya suspected that Gaby was not asking just out of idle curiosity. He let his thumb roll over the caps to his binocular lenses as he considered. "I do not have an answer for how many," Illya said evenly. "It will not be required for every mission. That I can say definitely. But there still are many. We gather intelligence by watching and listening. That is the job."

He could only see her facial expression in the side mirror as she continued to look out the open window. Gaby's mouth twisted into a frown.

"There is more to job than stake outs, though," Illya offered. At this point he was aware he had fully abandoned the pretense of watching the apartment in front of them.

Gaby huffed. "Yes, there are fights and murderers and good men dying for nothing," she said bitterly. She tipped her head back onto Illya's shoulder and tried to peer at him from the strange angle. "Don't deny it. I've seen it with my own eyes."

Those piercing brown eyes again lanced into Illya. He cleared his throat uncomfortably. More than anything, he wanted to comfort her. Yet she spoke the truth. He could not deny her points.

"Yes," he replied gruffly, "it is not easy job. Or easy life."

"Then why did you pick it?" she pressed.

His mouth opened and closed. There were many reasons but none came to mind as she stared deep into him. Illya started with the most straightforward one that finally arrived. "For honor. To do the right thing. Protecting my country - my family - from others by using the skills that I have," he explained roughly.

Gaby studied him, saying nothing for another long minute. "Is that why you burned the tape then? The data that Russia wanted and Napoleon would have given to America?" she asked. These were not simple questions. They were more than any person had the right to ask to another yet Illya struggled still to do just that for Gaby.

"Yes. It was the honorable thing to do. The bombs that would have come, they would only have brought pain and death. It was better to destroy it. Keep anyone from creating them," Illya replied.

She raised a thin, brown eyebrow. "But you could have given that power to Russia."

It was Illya's turn to sigh. "As you say, then there would be good men dying for nothing," he said. "Even if I had taken it from Solo, the Americans would still have known that we had it. The deaths would not have stopped even if I made it back to Moscow. Definitely not once the first bomb was built."

"Hmm," Gaby hummed. She finally tipped her head back down and once more resumed her tapping with her clever fingers.

"Does this bother you?" Illya asked. He didn't want the silence to creep up again, even if it meant more difficult questions.

A wry smile alighted on her lips which were once again only visible through the passenger mirror. "It would if I was stuffed in a car with Napoleon," she answered, diverting the subject away from the difficult topics she herself had brought up. "Can you imagine? Hours of chatter about art, food, the inks used in a proper US War Bond? No thank you."

Her eyes caught his staring even through the mirror and the smile widened. "I like my company as well. Even if he is as rocky to sit against as these seats."


End file.
